


giving

by BlushingKatya (OrangeVanilla)



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Breastfeeding, F/M, Face-Sitting, Vaginal Sex, brian has two dogs but they disappear for narrative reasons, see them in your minds eye lmao!, you'll have to trust me that it's katya and brian okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 06:38:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18805735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeVanilla/pseuds/BlushingKatya
Summary: She turns, her hands pausing when they lock eyes, dirt with dazzling blue. His heart sinks to the floor. His feet move before he’s aware of it, pulled to her like a puppet. She smiles, quiet and kind. He wants to kiss every inch of her.-a presentation of the notion 'katya is mother nature'





	giving

**Author's Note:**

> happy mothers day to those celebrating! feels fitting to post this today, for mother nature herself. i wrote most of this on monday, vastly inspired by a piece of bliss [campholmes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/campholmes/pseuds/campholmes) posted on her lovely new [patreon](https://www.patreon.com/ourladyellen/posts), and the peace in my soul from [yekaterina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yekaterina/pseuds/yekaterina)'s beautiful and equally as new [patreon](https://www.patreon.com/alwrites/posts). please support them if you have the chance to, they're pioneers, and huge supporters. thank you always to my dear friend [mattedzamo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MattedZamo/pseuds/MattedZamo) for your endless support. i'm not sure where i would be without you.
> 
> this is pretty loose, there isn't really a narrative. but i hope you feel the love i felt while writing it. katya is a muse to many of us, and this is an exploration of some ideas, but not all of them. effectively, as you can tell from the tags, this is a retelling of my meet and greet experience with her. her breasts are lifechanging. thank you all for your time.

He finds her asleep in the moss beyond his garden. 

At first, he’s half convinced she’s dead, with the shallow rise-fall of her bare chest, the peace in her face. Milk white and wet, he takes her inside when she moves just an inch. She weighs nothing, light between his fingertips. 

For once, his dogs are quietly curious. Brandi follows at his heels, but no sounds leave her beyond a whine. Dolly watches from her basket as he lays her down on the couch, pulls a blanket over her frozen body. And still, she is unbothered. 

A day passes, then two. It’s almost a week of him watching the news on mute over her, stood at the back of his couch and wringing his hands, something to do. Her hair is pale yellow, her cheeks are pinker than they were, but still worrisome. He pulls another blanket over her. The dogs still stay hushed. Brandi won’t leave the living room. 

He knows she’s awake by the smell, the feeling. The air shifts, there is an abundance of freshness, of life. The sun feels brighter through the curtains. When he looks out, the grass is greener. The rose bushes between the trees look happier. 

He pulls on a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, padding down the rickety stairs to find her sitting, her hands fussing both of the dogs. This is the first time he’s seen Dolly at peace with a stranger in years. She doesn’t really feel like a stranger at all. He chalks that up to being part of the furniture for five and a half days. 

“Hello,” he says from the bottom of the stairs, acutely aware of how he thinks of her as a gentle doe in a wood. She could be gone forever in seconds. 

She turns, her hands pausing when they lock eyes, dirt with dazzling blue. His heart sinks to the floor. His feet move before he’s aware of it, pulled to her like a puppet. She smiles, quiet and kind. He wants to kiss every inch of her. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” she says, her voice is warm and thick and vivid, more voice than he’s ever heard before. Her skin is plump and radiant, her breasts full and heavy, her nipples deep pink. She reaches out a hand to touch him, cradling his face in her palm. He races, vibrating. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, gripping the back of his couch when she laughs like bells, charmed. Brandi whines for attention, quiet when a hand rests on her furry back. Her eyes don’t leave his, not until she strokes her thumb along his cheek, glancing over his face, taking him in. Sizing him up. Her hair is spun gold, pure silk. He can’t breathe. 

She looks out of place in his humble lounge room, but very at home. Her toes curl against his frayed cushions, her legs over his blankets. “Come, sit,” she commands, and he tears his eyes away for just a few seconds, just to make sure he doesn’t step on Dolly. When her hand leaves his face, his skin is still hot. 

His shirt comes off when he’s sat beside her, she touches over his ribs, his nipples. Her lips are grapefruit, they press against his shoulders, his collarbones. He doesn’t dare reach out to touch her, lets her guide his hand to her breast, stuttering at the wetness at his palm. She moves to sit in his lap, cradles the back of his head and brings him close to her chest. 

He draws her nipple into his mouth, dewy sweetness on his tongue at the slightest swallow. She’s full to the brim, warm and light, and she sighs with every pull from his greedy mouth, stroking his skull with her fingertips. He kneads her other breast with his hand, her milk spills over at the slightest pressure, dribbling down his forearm, landing on her thigh. He’s so hard he aches. His eyelids are heavy, but he glances up to watch her face, serene and unbothered at his desperation. 

They stay like this for hours, it feels like, until he’s full and then some. She still has more, unfathomable to him how she can sit and give him her milk and not breathe a word of complaint, just offers more and more. He has nothing to give her. She doesn’t seem to mind. She rests her cheek against his head, her arms wrapped around him, encompassing him. 

She’s dripping wet, soaking his denim a midnight blue, matched with his own arousal. He peels his jeans off with shaking fingers, his boxers following shortly after, sticky with how hard he’s been for how long. Her hips are round, creasing where she sits, her hair gold and curly, darker around her labia. He wants to press his face against her pussy, wait open mouthed to let her drip onto his tongue, selfish and hungry. 

He glides his fingers over her clitoris, seeing stars when her hips jump in the slightest approval. She’s watching him, her lips parted, star white teeth in perfect rows. He can’t kiss her, not yet. Not when he hasn’t earned that heaven. He rubs over her entrance, circling before pressing his middle and ring fingers inside her, coaxed further by the warm pull of her velvet walls. 

The noise her pussy makes is bliss, slick and wet and only better when he adds a third finger, a fourth. She takes it with barely more than a whimper, humming quietly when he laps at her breasts, collecting stray droplets of her creamy milk on his tongue, swallowing her down. She’s so full of idle life, too much for one beautiful body. 

He wants desperately to be inside her, his heart hammers in his chest when he’s three knuckles deep and her cheeks are barely rosy. “Can I-..?” he asks feebly, she locks eyes with him and he trembles beneath her. “Can I make love to you?”

“Of course,” she whispers, he curls his fingers experimentally inside her, just to indulge. She smells like heaven, glows beneath his touch. She glides her fingers over the soft line of his jaw, down to his throat, and she dips to press wet kisses to his ear, nipping at his lobe. He shudders, thrusting his fingers inside her a few more times before easing them out, stroking over his dick. It aches, he feels like he could come at the slightest touch from her and still be rock hard. 

She moves to lift herself, letting him guide his dick inside her, holding himself at the base with a steel grip. He takes his time for just a moment, rubbing over her labia before nudging at her entrance, easing her to sink down. He grips the couch cushions beneath him when she takes his whole length, unaffected. He’s afraid of touching her. He feels like she’ll break. 

“Oh,” he breathes when she rolls her hips, her hands at his nipples again, rolling them between her fingers. She quivers around his dick, squeezing with every pull of his hips, slow and unurgent. Her eyelids are heavy, he leans up to kiss them carefully, left to right. She leans her head on his shoulder, folding into him, her breasts squish against his chest. His heart aches. 

He was right about coming, it turns out. It only takes a few slow thrusts and he’s climaxing, spilling inside her and panting hard against her collarbone. He’s still hard. He’s coming and she’s still on top of him, and his insides feel like there’s a fire licking through him, and his dick isn’t softening at all. She keeps moving, gliding a hand up to wipe at his cheeks. He sniffles in thanks. 

“You’re sweet,” she says softly, kissing his neck and settling to sit once again. He stills his hips, catching his breath for a moment, his hands on her thighs. When he moves his fingers, he can feel her peach fuzz, down to the thicker, darker hair over her calves. “Good heart. Gentle.”

The air is still. He watches her watching him, her hand moves to press over his chest, between his and hers. He’s sweating and lightheaded, leans back against the couch and throbs when she laughs again, tears pricking his eyes. Her pussy is so close around his dick. She is so enveloping. 

“Please,” he begs, not sure of what he’s asking for. He’s taken so much already. She trails her fingers over his throat, pressing lightly below his Adam’s apple. She clenches around him. He sobs. “Can I do anything for you?”

She croons, drumming her fingers over his shoulders and squeezing. “Come again. You can pleasure me after, if you have the energy,” she tells him, bouncing lightly and sending waves through his stomach. Even his intestines are singing. He pushes his hips up, doesn’t have the heart to ask her to ride him. 

“Can I move you, please?” he asks, wrapping a hand around the small of her back when she nods, the other cradling her rear. It takes a miracle, but he lays her down without moving from inside her. She’s light as feathers, moving upon request, smiling like he’s telling tired jokes. She giggles when he kisses the top of her breast, and it sends vibrations through her, pulling him ever closer to another orgasm. 

He has more control over his thrusts like this, but it doesn’t help the shake in his limbs, the urge to bottom out and come and bury his face in the crook of her neck. He feels akin to a dormouse. She brushes her fingers over his lips, pushing past for him to lick and suck at them. His hips stutter, she tastes like salt and all too real. He needs to kiss her. 

She reads his despair, thrusting her fingers in time with his off beat hips, a gleam in her seafoam eyes. He hollows his cheeks, revelling in how she twinkles, scraping her nails against his tongue and clacking them against his bottom teeth on her way out. She draws him in, presses a chaste kiss to his lips and lets him explore her. Her teeth are perfect, she tastes like spring, like new life. She kisses him back, just barely, letting him be as bold as he can manage. 

He moves her legs by her ankles, tenting them higher so he can get an easier angle. She does him one better and hooks her left leg over his back, gasping when he pushes further inside her. Her back arches up against him, he grips her hip and kisses her throat when he can’t bear to lick at her mouth like a needy animal. 

His thrusts barely venture past heavy and slow, aware in the back of his mind how fragile she seems, even with how she takes him with little more than a bat of her lids. He puffs hard through his nose, whimpering when she holds him close, her hips push down against his dick. He’s bottoming out with every push, barely bothering to pull back, just rocking into her. 

She kisses him when he comes again, holds his face and lets him lay heavy on top of her, buried full hilt inside her and panting restlessly. She smooths over his furrowed brow, rubs the tension from his temples, hushes him when he starts to apologise for being so spent. “Calm,” she murmurs against his cheek, stroking her fingers over his back and shoulders. “You are fine. Enough worries, I can take it.”

“You’re so gentle,” he breathes, his chest heaves with a shuddering breath, threatening a sob. He’s softening, finally, he pulls back and out of her warmth, moving so she can lay over him, stroking his cheek and watching him come down slowly. “I can’t do that to you. Not worry.”

She smiles quietly, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. He feels at peace, now more than ever, his heart still racing. She still hasn’t climaxed. He rests his hand at her waist, moves over her round hip, dipping between her thighs to stroke over her pussy. Her breath catches, her eyes move to meet his from where she’s been gazing over his chest. 

“Let me taste you,” he says softly, bringing his fingers to his mouth and letting her guide them past his lips. He tastes himself, mostly, but there are notes of her on his tongue, sea salt and dragon fruit, cream. He hollows his cheeks, pulls his fingers out with a wet _pop_ that makes her smile. “Please. Please, let me.”

It takes a moment, but he coaxes her to settle on top of him, her pink knees either side of his head, his hands hooked around her thighs to draw her in. She’s careful, it’s sweet. He guides her down, laying his tongue flat over her labia and moving long and slow, circling her clit. She holds the arm of the couch, resting her weight against his face when he pulls at her thighs again, she’s feathers on top of him. 

He dips his tongue to her entrance, pressing his nose flush against her slicked curls. She gasps quietly, placing a palm over his forehead and rolling her hips down against his tongue, humming when he presses inside her. He can still taste himself, but the longer he laps at her the more he tastes her, sticky and sweet. His chin is wet from her, dripping down to his throat. 

He can barely breathe, only getting a few huffs of air when she moves steadily against his mouth, her breathing hitches each time he brushes over her clit. She glides over his tongue, sweet pink silk, he’s swallowing her nectar like a life source. Her thumb smooths over his eyebrow, moaning softly when he reaches up to squeeze and pull at her nipples. 

She’s quiet for the most part, save for when she starts getting closer to the brink, her fingers curl against his head and she whimpers when he turns his attention to her clit again. He keeps his movements as consistent as possible, licking and sucking as her thighs clutch closer to his cheeks, her hips twitch. She’s coming on his tongue, breathless and still, frozen above him until he licks long and slow between her labia again, sucking gently to watch her gasp.

Her cheeks are flushed when she moves to sit on his hips, wiping at his chin with her fingers, massaging herself into him. His heart is restless. She’s too beautiful. “Will you stay?” he asks despite himself, dreading the answer he expects. She rests her hands on his ribs, leaning against him. 

“You know,” she says softly, and he does, but it still makes him close his eyes. She’s quiet again, pressing her fingers to his lips and letting him kiss them. The air settles. She’s close, weightless and warm under his palms. “You have me now.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Not like this. You won’t remember me,” she breathes, resting against his chest and closing her eyes. He can’t close his own, not while she’s still here, sunlight in a jar. 

“I remember you _now_ ,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, rubbing over the curve of her lower back. His fingers trace over her dimples, etched in his brain. “I do. I know you.”

She cradles his cheek, sighing through her nose. “You’ll still have me. You always have me,” she promises, looking up at him with glassy eyes. He strokes her hip, nowhere to put his hands other than her. She’s still real, she’s still here. “You’ve been so kind. You’re getting better.”

He lets that sit with him, closing his eyes when her fingers stroke over his lids, pulling him to sleep dreamlessly. He wakes alone, lets the dogs out once he’s dressed, and sits beneath the peach tree at the bottom of the garden. A warm breeze greets him.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr @blushingkatya if you want to hang out sometime.


End file.
